


Captain Becker's Lonely Hearts Club

by TheLibranIniquity



Series: Captain Becker's Nouns [3]
Category: Primeval
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-03
Updated: 2010-12-03
Packaged: 2017-11-06 00:31:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/412744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLibranIniquity/pseuds/TheLibranIniquity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Becker ponders death by entrée, makes a friend and learns the Origin of Knickers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

If wishes were horses... what did that even mean? Becker had heard it said often enough but perseverance on its own had never meant much. He much preferred the saying 'be careful what you wish for' – not least because he knew what it meant without having to resort to Google – but that didn't really fit his current situation. Neither did the weird combination of wishes and horses. That didn't do anything for him except to bring him right back around to square one, no better off for having traversed this particular mental tangent.

Over on the sofa, Giles snored loudly and rolled over, burying his face into the pillow.

Oh, yes. That was why Becker couldn't stop thinking about wishes at the moment.

_Earlier that day..._

“So, is anyone else really relieved the _Cionodon_ didn't get fried by the dodgy electrics back there, or is it just me?”

“No, Connor, we're all relieved it didn't die.”

“Are we even sure that's what it was?”

“Best approximation the database could give. Only so much information on that particular genus that the Victorians could agree on...”

Becker let the team's conversation, now veering firmly into academic and even speculative territory, wash over him. He was more than happy to allow the civilians in his charge to maintain their humanitarian principles, and since joining the ARC had learned to accept that any creature encounter that didn't end in a hail of bullets and blood spatter was, more often than not, a good outcome. Tranquilliser gun was a more than acceptable alternative – when he was allowed to use it. But that was a mental tangent for another time.

The petrified _Cionodon_ had needed almost no coaxing back through the anomaly, and Becker and his team hadn't been called on to provide any more than a precautionary perimeter. All in all, today had been a good day.

At the far end of the building site, where the 4x4s stood out like a collection of sore thumbs, Connor tugged on Becker's shoulder slightly, pulling him a little further away from the rest of the group. His excitement from seeing the dinosaur earlier – from what Becker had gathered, it wasn't one that even Connor knew very much about – was only just starting to wear off.

“Um, hey.”

Becker schooled his expression, not letting a sudden flare of amusement show. “Hello.”

Connor shot him a quick, dirty look. “Yes, thank you for that. Um, you know that book you lent me?”

Of course he did. Becker wasn't about to go and forget lending one of his dad's paperbacks to a known man-child on nothing more than a whim, now, was he? In lieu of verbal response, he cocked his head slightly and waited for Connor to continue. Off to their right he heard Miss Lewis try to usher them into the 4x4s.

Connor glanced at the cars before turning back to Becker. “Well, I finished it, and I was wondering – could we really talk about it?” He looked absurdly hopeful, and he was even smiling.

“Of course,” Becker nodded. “Not here, though.”

“Well, obviously not.” Connor frowned. “Lester probably wouldn't like it if I had someone over.”

Becker fought to keep his expression neutral. That statement opened up all kinds of possible conjecture – up to and most definitely including: when had Miss Maitland kicked him out? Call him naïve, but he'd assumed that cohabitation arrangement was reasonably stable, at the very least, even given his relatively limited exposure to the pair. Although it did explain certain recent events, now that he thought about it. Also it proved that he didn't know as much about the people he was working with as maybe he should, but again – thoughts for another time.

He realised Connor was waiting for him to respond. “How about my place?” he suggested. He started moving towards the nearest 4x4, acutely aware that Miss Lewis was starting to pull faces at the two of them. Connor began moving as well, but to another car. “We'll sort something out later.”

“Sounds like a plan!” Connor called back, ducking into the car and out of sight.

All the way back to the ARC Becker pointedly ignored the comments and knowing looks from his team about him and Connor. It was only their equivalent of light-hearted teasing – and anyway, he was in charge of their duty rosters.

o o o o o

Becker didn't see Connor again that day. That in itself was not unusual, and not something Becker dwelt on for any length of time, not least because although his afternoon was nominally given over to paperwork, it didn't necessarily mean that any of it actually got done.

Instead of completing mind-numbing requisition forms for some obscure cross-departmental platform that Becker was mostly sure was only there for show, he had ended up on perimeter patrol. Outside. In increasingly heavy rain. And after that one of the palaeobotanists had asked for some help moving ancient soil samples. And after _that_ he'd made it to the break room for some much needed tea, only to be sent packing to the main atrium by Major Ryan with what looked suspiciously like a pooper-scooper.

The reasoning behind that particular piece of equipment quickly became obvious.

By the end of the day, Becker was quite sure there was nobody in the ARC that he didn't hate with a fiery vengeance, not that he let any of this show, of course, as he made a break for the car park as quickly as his upbringing would allow. There were lines that he was never going to cross, and being pushed to anything even remotely resembling breaking point by a bunch of crazy dinosaur hunters was one of them.

In the blessed, blessed quiet and solitude of his flat, Becker was partway through cooking a delicious little korma for one and skimming the headlines on Teletext – and when that proved depressing it was back to the flowchart taped to the fridge – when the buzzer to his front door sounded.

He briefly wondered whether it was Connor before realising the kid had no idea where he lived. At least, Becker hadn't divulged the information to the best of his recollection.

He thumbed the intercom in the hallway. “Yes?”

 _“It's me,”_ a voice replied.

Becker frowned. “Giles?”

_“Yeah. Can I come up?”_

And the award for most pointless question ever went to... his brother. Becker sighed and buzzed Giles in before returning to his dinner-in-progress. He heard the approach long before the actual arrival – footsteps clomping down the hallway before a door opened and promptly slammed shut again... and what sounded suspiciously like...

Becker poked his head out of the kitchen. Then the rest of his body followed. “Giles.”

His brother grinned at him. “Yeah?”

“Why have you got a suitcase with you?”

Giles beamed again. On him the expression looked slightly sinister. “Thought I'd come stay with you for a bit.”

Becker stared. “What?”

“That's okay, isn't it? It's just for a few days, while they're sorting some stuff out at my place. Come on, Hilary, it'll be fantastic. Just you and me, quality brother bonding time.” Giles sniffed theatrically and pushed past him into the kitchen, leaving the door wide open. “That smells great, can I have some? I'm starving!”

Becker resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose, instead settling for several deep breaths.

Then the smoke alarm went off.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Giles offered to drive him into work the next morning. Except that it was a lot closer to insisting, and Becker should have realised at the time that he should have said no. Repeatedly. Preferably with visual aids.

At the time of the offer, however, Becker had been far too bleary-eyed and in need of caffeine to refuse anything, something he strongly suspected his brother was well aware of and obviously more than willing to take advantage of.

So instead of doing the sensible thing – saying no many, many times and possibly running and screaming for good measure – Becker instead found himself in his own car with his brother behind the wheel. Heading towards his place of work. Where his colleagues were; people who were entirely, blissfully unaware of the existence of Giles Montgomery Becker.

It was with no small amount of dread welling up in his gut that Becker realised he very much wanted to keep things that way.

“Elspeth's finally agreed to an induced labour,” Giles said, breaking the monotony at a set of red traffic lights.

“Yeah?” Becker wasn't particularly interested in that morsel of news, having spent several days studiously ignoring a series of increasingly hysterical answer-phone messages from Mum about the due date, and presumably how precariously the fate of the free world hung in the balance in relation to it.

“Yeah,” Giles grinned. “Just as well, really; word is Patrick's on the brink of a nervous breakdown. Poor bastard.”

Becker snorted, but said nothing. Patrick was Elspeth's long-suffering husband, and while the pregnancy had definitely taken more out of him than it had her, the man had also been well aware of what he was getting into when they'd got married. Giles had personally seen to that on the stag do.

“Do you know if they've picked a name yet?” Becker asked after a few minutes' more silence.

“Still don't know the gender, apparently,” Giles replied, glaring down a cyclist who had pulled up alongside them. “They have been asking around for suggestions, though.”

“For the name or the gender?”

At that Giles laughed loudly. When he calmed down again he said calmly, almost innocently: “I thought about offering them a few possible names.”

Becker looked over at him. He knew that tone of voice, just like he knew the only name Giles would have considered suggesting to their sister. “You didn't.”

Giles grinned again, back to his usual deviant self in a flash. “No,” he admitted. “But only because Elspeth wouldn't have got the reference.”

“And let me guess, that would have been no fun for you,” Becker replied, deciding the view out of his window was much more interesting right now. “Oh, left here.”

Giles obliged. Much to Becker's overwhelming relief there wasn't a single ARC employee anywhere in the lane outside the first security point, save the corporal on duty. As he climbed out of the car, Giles leaned over. “Let me know when you want picking up, yeah?”

Becker turned back to stare at him. He thought about saying something, maybe even asking what Giles was planning to to with the day – and his car – but quickly decided that ignorance was indeed bliss. He settled for a nod, then strode purposefully for the checkpoint.

o o o o o

By approximately one-thirty that afternoon, Captain Hilary Becker had officially lost the will to live. It had been touch and go there for a while – between Major Ryan spectacularly bollocking him for something he only half remembered and was even less sure he was actually culpable for, and Miss Lewis gleefully dumping a fresh load of paperwork on his desk along with some insidiously short deadline for completing and returning it – but the tipping point had definitely been when he'd found out the break room had tragically run out of tea bags.

Becker also needed to stop his inner voice from using adverbs. It never ended well.

Back in his office and beginning to rue the day he'd accepted the assignment to _“lead the field security for a team of civilians while they conduct research of a vital and highly classified nature”_ Becker heard the door open.

When he looked up, a book was floating in the air in front of him. He blinked a couple of times, just to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. Then he spotted the hand holding the book, and the arm which was attached to it, and the body which was attached to that, which belonged to -

“Connor.”

Connor chuckled, much like a disturbingly over-sized toddler, and stepped into the small office, closing the door behind him. Only then did Becker notice the cover of the book – a battered-looking 1970s edition of _Dune_ and he accepted it when Connor held it out to him. Quick inspection showed it was in much the same condition as when he'd relinquished it, and Dad never had to know it had been out of his possession in the first place.

Becker glanced at the paperwork he still had to fill out before returning his attention to Connor. “Thanks.”

Connor frowned. “For what? Oh – returning it?” He pulled a slight face. “I did say I'd be careful with it.”

“Yes, you did.”

“So...” Connor rocked back and forth on his heels for a moment. “How does... tonight sound?”

Becker was about to answer when he remembered the proverbial elephant in the room – or rather, the very real brother in the flat. “No,” he replied.

“Oh.” Connor barely hesitated. “Tomorrow?”

“No,” Becker repeated. He'd already made the mistake of allowing one of his colleagues from the ARC to meet his family, and if that hadn't been a recipe for keeping his two lives mutually exclusive, he wasn't sure what would be.

“Okay,” Connor said quietly. “You know, if you actually didn't want to talk about the book, you should have just said so.”

Becker frowned, then sighed as realisation reared her ugly little head. “You can't come to the flat because my brother's staying with me at the moment.”

“S'what Abby said,” Connor mumbled, looking dejected.

Well, that put things into a little more context, and it took Becker a few moments to carefully consider a new course of action. By the time he'd thought of something and was ready to implement it, Connor had perked up.

“I didn't realise you had a brother.”

“Well, I have. And a sister.”

Instead of being put off by Becker's dismissive tone, which had served him so well whenever he'd needed to make people back away quickly in the past, Connor grinned. “Are they anything like you?”

“...No.” God, no. At least, he sincerely hoped not.

“Older? Younger?” Far from the kicked puppy he'd projected only a minute or two before, Connor now seemed much more like the over-excited animal with a new toy. And having apparently decided that rocking aimlessly in the middle of Becker's office was no longer any fun, Connor came around Becker's desk to sit on the end of it, swinging his legs in the small space between Becker and the wall.

“Both older. Elspeth's six years older than me, and Giles is a couple of years behind her.” Becker was dimly aware that he was spilling more information about his family right now than in his entire time at the ARC – and probably more than he'd ever told anyone else. If there was a way to bottle Connor up and sell him as some kind of truth serum, he could make millions from it.

“Cool,” Connor said. Then he frowned again. “Elspeth and Giles? That's a bit old-fashioned, isn't it?”

Becker shrugged and wondered whether it was safe to go back to the paperwork now he had a geek taking up residence on his desk. “Family names.”

Connor nodded, now tapping out some unfathomable rhythm on the edge of the desk. Did he ever keep still? “So what's yours, then?”

“Pardon me?”

Connor shrugged. He had an innocent look on his face – worryingly enough he looked exactly like Giles when he was planning something that would make most people run for the nearest underground bunker. “Your name,” he explained. “What is it?”

“I thought we were supposed to be talking about _Dune_ ,” Becker said, and that had to be a pretty nifty deflection, even for him. He took the opportunity even further and added before Connor could start cottoning on: “So what's your take on Herbert's world-building?”

“Oh – well.” Connor launched into a monologue of truly epic proportions; only about half of the references made any sense, but Becker found himself nodding and grunting in all the right places while still keeping on with the dreaded paperwork, and despite not knowing as much about the television-based media as Connor, he was able to hold his own in some of the counter-arguments, and all of a sudden a paperwork-filled afternoon didn't look so bad after all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

That night Giles offered to cook. By cook he meant blast double portions of the ready-meals-for-one that Becker kept in his freezer for special occasions – and by special occasions Becker did not mean invasions into his home by his brother.

The spaghetti and meatballs did smell kind of good, though.

“You've got crap taste in books.” Giles broke off from the undoubtedly riveting viewing through the microwave door to shoot Becker what was probably supposed to be a sly glance. It came off as constipated.

Becker rolled his eyes. “I'm sorry – were there not enough pictures for you?”

“Oh, ha ha. Seriously though, how many of those things have you actually read?”

“Books? More than you by the look of it.” Becker elbowed past Giles to get a couple of glasses out of a cupboard. “Does it ever occur to you that some of us like peace, quiet and a good read in an evening?”

Giles considered this for a second. Then: “Nope.”

“Figures.” Becker poured out some juice and offered Giles a glass, which was accepted, albeit with a suspicious look and some exaggerated sniffing.

“Why is there no alcohol in this?”

“Because I'm on call and you're a bastard when you're drunk.” And when he wasn't – or was it when he wasn't asleep? Probably even then.

“Well, you're no fun,” Giles complained, clearly not about to object to the description of him, but he took a gulp of the juice anyway. Behind him the microwave beeped a couple of times and he stabbed at a few buttons before settling back against the counter.

“Seriously, though.” Becker eyeballed his brother, not about to let this one go. “When was the last time you took some time out to read a really good book?”

Giles shot him a filthy look. “When was the last time you took some time out to have a really good shag?”

“That's the best you can come up with?” Becker shook his head, then moved across the kitchen again, this time in pursuit of dishes and cutlery.

“Weeks?” Giles asked from behind him.

“You're being childish.”

Giles whistled. “Months!”

Becker thrust two plates at him. “You're being childish,” he repeated.

“Says the soldier boy who hasn't had any in months.”

Becker set his jaw and mentally counted to twenty. He'd only got as far as fourteen when Giles interrupted with: “That really is a problem, Hilary.”

“You being childish?”

“You not experiencing the joy of sex.” Giles paused for a moment, and Becker could just see the deviant mental cogs whirring into life in his head. His growing fears were well and truly confirmed when Giles announced: “I'm going to fix that for you.”

“It doesn't need fixing. I don't have time for a girlfriend!”

“Or a boyfriend?” Giles leered.

“Shut up.”

“Oh, now who's being childish?”

The microwave beeped. “Just dish up the pasta.”

o o o o o

Becker was in the break room, listening to some of the lads planning a dirty weekend in Amsterdam, when his mobile rang. It was Giles; he ignored it.

Just as the self-appointed event planner for the Amsterdam trip started to get into specifics, Becker's phone rang again.

“You going to get that?” someone asked. Becker considered flipping them off, or simply ignoring both his brother and the other soldiers. All of that sounded like too much effort, so he answered the call and resisted the sudden urge to pray to any given deity that he wasn't about to let himself in for abject humiliation.

“Becker.”

 _“Hey Hilary!”_ Giles said in sing-song. _“How's my favourite baby brother today?”_

Becker blinked. “Whatever it is, the answer's no.” Opposite him a sergeant stage whispered _girlfriend troubles_ to his immediate neighbour. Becker ignored them both.

 _“Oh, come on,”_ Giles laughed, _“I bet it's not what you think.”_

“Last time you said that, I came home to find my fridge in pieces on the living room floor,” Becker said, suddenly and rather acutely aware that most of the other soldiers were now watching him with obvious interest. “What do you want, Giles?”

Right on cue, the eavesdroppers' eyes collectively widened. _Boyfriend troubles!_ the same sergeant from before mouthed to his cohort, who nodded dumbly, never taking her eyes off Becker.

 _“Well,”_ Giles began. _“It's not so much me as it is Cassie.”_

“Excuse me?”

_“Her name's Cassie, she's a bit gorgeous and for some reason – I can't imagine why – she's really looking forward to meeting you.”_

“Why are you telling me this?”

 _“Operation Get Hilary Shagged.”_ Giles sounded obscenely cheerful. _“I thought you might disapprove if I simply gave her your number, so I thought -”_

Becker closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as hard as he could. “Giles, I don't care how good looking you think she is, you are not bringing her home with you.”

Every single man and woman in there stared at Becker with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. The sudden silence was deafening.

_“But -”_

“No,” Becker said firmly. “I have to get back to work now; we'll talk about this later.” He ended the call, slipped the phone into his pocket and looked back up to find he had the undivided attention of every single soldier in the room. He did a quick mental review of the conversation and just as quickly decided he had a pretty good idea of what most of them were thinking – and that it wasn't worth trying to correct any of their erroneous assumptions.

The sole lieutenant in the room let out a wolf whistle. “Wow,” he said. “Didn't know you had it -”

“Oh, fuck off,” Becker said, reasonably. He left the break room before another bright spark decided to pipe up.

The knowing glances and impressed looks continued for most of the rest of the day; Becker ignored them with all the grace and poise that befitted being Giles Becker's younger brother. It was something he'd had a terrifying amount of practice with, and by the time it came to shut up shop for the night he'd lost count of the number of ways he'd considered killing his brother. His current favourite included a shower head and two woollen scarves.

He'd driven himself into work today – which only made the question of just how Giles had managed to find this Cassie person all the more prurient. That was, of course, if Becker was inclined to think at all about it – which he wasn't. In the slightest.

He'd changed out of his uniform and was one his way down to the car park when he spotted Connor. He was sitting on his own in the scientists' break room, hands wrapped around a mug and a look of utter misery on his face.

Against first instinct, Becker went in. “Hello, Connor.”

Connor started, but quickly calmed down when he saw Becker. “Hey,” he replied.

Becker frowned. Connor was quiet – almost mute by his standards. “Are you putting in overtime?”

“What? Oh – no.” Connor stared into his mug. “Just waiting around, I suppose.”

Becker slid into the chair opposite him. “Waiting for what?”

Connor shrugged but said nothing, instead choosing to deliberately fidget with the mug in his already tight grip.

Well. This was awkward. Becker flashed back to the conversation they'd had in his little office yesterday, before they'd launched into the book discussion, and the few instances they'd crossed paths before that. “Is... this about Miss Maitland?” he asked, choosing his words carefully. He had no idea if he was overstepping any boundaries or not, and that unnerved him.

“Abby?” Connor asked. He looked up at Becker, an odd little frown on his face. Then a half-grin appeared. “You really are weird sometimes.” When Becker just stared at him, he explained. “Most people call other people by their first names.”

Becker smirked. “Most people weren't raised by my parents.”

At that, Connor grinned properly, but it faded almost as quickly. “Abby kicked me out of the flat,” he said. The words, and the dejected tone behind them, startled Becker. “Her brother's staying with her and she didn't think it would be appropriate if I was there as well.”

Becker frowned again. “I thought you were flatmates.” Then something else occurred to him. “So where are you staying now? Not here?”

“I did – for a bit,” Connor said. “I'm staying at Lester's now, though.”

That didn't – that couldn't be right. “Lester? Our boss, Lester?”

“Yeah.” Connor shrugged. “Beggars can't be choosers. It's not so bad, though.”

Becker raised his eyebrows. Somehow he doubted that very much. “Really?”

A ghost of a smirk crossed Connor's face. “Better than sleeping in a camp bed in the break room.”

Becker imagined most things would be. “If I had a spare room, I'd offer it to you,” he said, surprising himself, “but my place is only a one bed, and -”

“Your brother's staying with you,” Connor finished. He nodded, though there was that little smile again. “Appreciate the thought, though.”

“Any time.” Another thought occurred to Becker. “Is there nobody else you could have stayed with?”

“Nobody I could have asked,” was Connor's only response.

There wasn't anything he could say to that, really; Becker officially felt sorry for the other man, and also at a complete loss as to what he could do about it – if anything.

“They made a film based on _Dune_ ,” he said after a couple of minutes' awkward silence. When Connor looked up, interested, he continued: “It's rubbish compared to the book, but it's still fun.”

“Okay...”

“I just thought we could make an evening of it, once my brother goes back to his own life,” Becker explained. “What do you think?”

“Yeah,” Connor smiled. “I'll bring the popcorn!”

“Sounds like a plan,” Becker replied, echoing Connor's phrase from the other day. He got up from the table. “I ought to get going – see you tomorrow, Connor.”

“Night, Becker,” Connor said.

At the door to the break room, Becker glanced back. Connor was staring at his mug again, but this time he didn't look so miserable.

o o o o o

By the time Becker got home it had just started to rain. He darted inside the main entrance of the building only to be greeted by the sight of a woman struggling with half a dozen shopping bags.

Instinct kicked in. “Here, let me help,” Becker said, touching the woman's arm lightly to get her attention before picking up the visibly heavy bags.

“Oh – thanks,” she replied. “I'm on the second floor, though. Are you sure you're going to be -”

“Yes, ma'am,” Becker said automatically, though he managed to smile as extra reassurance. Awkwardly he motioned for her to lead the way up the stairs.

On the second floor, and presumably outside the door to her flat, the woman turned to face Becker while giving him space to put the shopping bags down beside the ones she'd brought up. “Well... thanks for that,” she smiled.

“Not a problem,” Becker said. He motioned back down the stairs. “I'm only downstairs.”

“I know. I think I've seen you around a couple of times.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You keep some strange hours.”

“Job hazard.” Becker chose his words carefully, just as more training kicked in and he held out his hand. “I'm Becker, by the way.”

Openly bemused, the woman shook it. “Just Becker?”

“Last name. It's what most people call me.”

“Ahh.” The woman nodded. She hesitated for a second, then smiled. “Well, it's lovely to finally meet one of the neighbours. I'm Hilary Becker.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Becker stared at her for a long, long moment. So this was what being completely blind sided and dumbfounded felt like.

After what felt like an eternity, he rediscovered his vocal cords. “Lovely to meet you, too. I, er – I have to go now.” He extricated his hand from hers and tried not to run down the flight of stairs to his own front door. He closed it behind him and leaned against it.

Right on cue, his ears started to burn, and Becker would have put good money on them turning bright red as well. It was a classic sign that he was feeling guilty, except he had no idea what he was supposed to be feeling guilty about...

Becker stared up at the ceiling. He quickly worked out from the staircase outside that the flat directly above him belonged to none other than Miss Hilary Becker. His ears burned even more.

Guilty. Why?

Oh. Oh no...

“Who peed on your shotgun?” Giles asked, appearing as if from nowhere.

Becker turned slowly to look at him. “Why would someone... do that to my shotgun?”

“It's an expression.” Giles looked unimpressed. “Seriously, though, what's wrong?”

“Don't, okay?” Becker pushed himself off the door and went into the kitchen. “Just don't.” He was officially mortified with himself. He hadn't just thrown out underwear that had magically appeared in his letter box a few weeks previously – he'd thrown out newly-bought knickers that belonged to an actual person and had been simply mis-delivered by the Royal bloody...

Becker flicked the kettle on and began prepping a mug on autopilot. A small voice in the back of his mind helpfully began swearing in more than a dozen languages (oh, the joys of a university education and military training) while he waited for the water to boil. He glanced up at the ceiling again, and the swear words in his brain promptly increased in mental volume.

“Hilary?” Giles sounded genuinely worried.

“Not if you were the last person on Earth,” Becker replied automatically. And maybe not even then.

His brother didn't look convinced though, and he leaned against the door frame opposite Becker.

About ten seconds later he capitulated. Sort of. “Long day. Lots of paperwork. Oh, and all the other on-duty soldiers somehow getting the impression that I'd turned down my boyfriend's suggestion of a hot threesome.”

“Er, oops?” Giles grinned. He didn't seem the least bit repentant, and Becker supposed that if – if – the tables were turned he'd probably find inflicting that kind of second-hand embarrassment funny as well. He'd have to try a lot harder to find something that would embarrass Giles, though, but he was sure it wouldn't be impossible.

If he were that kind of person. Fortunately Becker was fairly sure he was not.

The kettle whistled just then, and Becker grabbed his mug. “So, how much longer are you going to be staying?”

At the lack of response he rolled his eyes. “You know I can't actually hear a scowl, right?”

“I wasn't scowling.” Giles shot back. “Actually I was shrugging.”

“Can't hear that, either.”

“I don't know.”

Becker flicked the tea bag into the bin. “You don't know what?”

“How long I'm going to be here.”

“I thought you said the stuff at your flat was only going to take a few days.”

Giles shrugged again – and this time Becker saw it. Before he could say anything else, though, the phone rang.

“Get that, would you?” Becker asked.

Giles shot him a dirty look, but went through to the living room. “It's Mum,” he called back a moment later.

Becker groaned. What could she possibly want this time? The phone continued to ring. “Pick it up, then,” he replied.

“You pick it up.”

Becker grabbed the now completed mug of tea and padded into the living room – where the phone was still ringing.

“You're closest,” he pointed out, deliberately wrapping both hands around the mug.

“It's your flat,” Giles replied, never taking his eyes off the phone.

Becker didn't move from his spot just inside the doorway. “She was your mum first.”

“You're pathetic.”

“Pot, do meet kettle.”

The phone stopped ringing, leaving an odd silence in its stead. Giles breathed a loud sigh of relief while Becker merely sipped more tea. Any second -

The phone beeped again, and the Beckers' mother's modulated voice trilled out of the speaker. _“Hilary? Are you there, Hilary? Oh, do pick up, sweetheart, I've got the most wonderful news!”_

“You're emigrating to Australia,” Giles muttered. “Tomorrow.”

Becker snorted, but said nothing, instead choosing to wait for his mother to give up on him picking up the phone and continue with the message.

_“Elspeth's had her baby!”_

Becker stared at his tea. He had a feeling he was going to need something much, much stronger by the time the evening was through.

o o o o o

Two hours, later Giles poked his head around Becker's bedroom door. So much for privacy.

“I spoke to Dad,” he said brightly. “The demon spawn has been declared as female, and as yet remains nameless.”

Becker looked up from his book, index finger poised at the next paragraph. “That rules out Damien, then.”

“Yeah.” Giles actually managed to look disappointed as he came all the way into the room to flop at the foot of the bed. He frowned. “There were never any female equivalents to him in the films, were there?”

“Books,” Becker corrected automatically. “And... no. Just that journalist he managed to knock up, I think.”

“Oh. Right. What was her name?”

Becker shrugged. He couldn't remember the last time he'd read those books, probably not since he'd been at school. “Kara, Kate, something like that.”

Giles sighed theatrically and kicked his legs out over the edge of the bed.

At that, Becker frowned, and he glanced back at the book. So much for that. He bookmarked his page and set the book aside. 

“We're uncles,” Giles said, before Becker could do anything else. He craned his neck to look at Becker. “We're uncles.”

Becker settled for raising his eyebrows in response. He'd thought the implication of them having a niece had been clear enough when Mum's answer phone message had played the first time. Giles had insisted on playing it back several times, just to make sure he wasn't hallucinating, and as a result Mum's overexcited shrieks were now echoing around and around in Becker's head.

“I'm the cool uncle, obviously,” Giles continued. He pulled a face. “You can be the slightly creepy one who takes them camping in the summer and teaches them how to kill people.”

Because that was clearly all his military training and experience was good for. He might as well play along, though, and he nodded solemnly. “We'll practise with effigies of you.”

“Cruel.”

“It's a cruel world.”

Something flickered over Giles' face, just for a moment. “Yeah...” he murmured. Then he glanced at Becker again, taking in the angled sight before him.

Becker leaned back against the headboard and waited for the inevitable...

“You really should have let me introduce you to Cassie if this is how you spend your evenings.”

...counter punch.

“I'm not looking for a romantic relationship,” Becker replied.

“I'm not talking happily ever after,” Giles countered. “More... happily right now.”

“Not interested.”

“Oh!” Giles propped himself up on his elbows and jabbed a finger in Becker's general direction. “What about Tall, Freckled and Ginger?”

Becker stared at him. “Who?”

“The bloke you brought to Kathy's barbecue.”

“Quinn?” Becker frowned. “What about him?”

“Was that his name?” Giles wondered.

“Danny Quinn.”

Giles brightened. “That's the one!”

“What about him?” Becker repeated.

Giles sighed theatrically, like Becker was the dense one in this conversation. “Is that just a work thing, or is there wooing involved and -”

“No.” Becker pulled a face that probably looked juvenile. At Giles' disbelieving look, he gritted his teeth and elaborated. “Mum said Kathy wanted to set me up with her god-daughter.”

“Madison?” Giles snorted. “No, you're definitely not missing anything there, I -”

Becker groaned. Even he knew what that misdirection meant. “You didn't...”

Becker was saved from further confirmation of his brother's nature by his mobile phone going off on the bedside table. Leaning over to grab it he saw the caller ID. _Jenny Lewis_.

“Work,” he explained to Giles before answering the call.

_“Captain, we've got an anomaly alert in Watford. How quickly can you be ready to go?”_

Becker looked down at himself; with the exception of his boots, which were just inside the front door, he was wearing something that could almost resemble a uniform.

“Two minutes,” he replied. If that.

_“Excellent. We'll be at yours in five.”_

“Who's on shift?” Becker asked, swinging himself off the bed and pulling the gun case out from underneath it. On the periphery of his vision he could see Giles tense up, but thankfully he remained silent.

 _“Danny Quinn and Sarah Page.”_ Miss Lewis paused for a moment, obviously considering Becker's question; she was nothing if not perceptive. _“Problem?”_

“No, ma'am,” Becker answered. “Five minutes.”

 _“See you then.”_ And with that, Miss Lewis hung up.

Becker pocketed the phone and looked over at Giles. “I have to go.”

Giles nodded mutely, eyes fixed on the shotgun in Becker's hands. Becker sighed mentally. For all Giles' bravado and off-the-wall remarks about Becker's decision to follow their dad into the military, he never had been comfortable with the reality of it. Like the gun securely locked away under Becker's bed, and the other weapons he kept at the flat. 

It was at times like this that there was no age difference between Giles and Hilary Becker.

“I don't know when I'll be back,” Becker continued. “Best if you lock up after me, and I'll take the spare key.”

Giles nodded again. He'd curled his knees up against his body, and Becker wondered briefly whether he'd been consciously aware of doing that.

Becker shouldered the weapon and went to retrieve his boots. From behind him he heard Giles say, in a subdued voice. “Just be careful, all right?”

Becker thought briefly about the possibility of dinosaurs, or crazed time travellers with no discernible regard for modern humanity. Not that he could tell his brother about either of those work hazards, of course.

“I'll be fine.” He glanced back to see Giles still watching him, still perched at the bottom of his bed, and he capitulated. “I'll be careful, I promise.”

Giles didn't look convinced, but he nodded anyway.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The anomaly turned out to be a bit of a non-starter in the end, at least as far as Becker was concerned. It occupied the end cubicle of a rather dilapidated block of public toilets and there appeared to be no sign of life or any other activity on the other side.

The ever-efficient Miss Lewis, however, wasted no time in positioning Becker's team at what she considered strategic points in and around the toilet block. And, by some sheer display of will that was nothing short of miraculous, Becker hadn't heard a single toilet-related joke from any of his men.

He was sure it was only a matter of time, though.

While Connor dashed in and out of the toilets, carrying various cases and bits of tech as he went, Becker leaned back against the least dirty patch of wall beside the toilets' entrance and tried to look inconspicuous, or at last as much as was humanly possible.

After about ten minutes, Quinn came outside, stretching his arms and noisily gulping in air. He turned around and grinned when he saw Becker. “Can't stand the smell of piss,” he announced.

Becker blinked, but said nothing.

“Connor and Sarah are doing whatever it is they do with anomalies when there aren't any dinosaurs around. Serenade it in binary, I imagine.”

It was a very rare occasion that Becker was allowed to forget that Quinn wasn't a completely mindless cretin with a police badge.

“Been hearing some interesting things about you today, Captain,” Quinn murmured, taking up position beside him.

Becker shot him a sideways look, but said nothing, and tried not to think about what possible things Quinn could have overheard that he considered worth talking about.

Not that Quinn had ever needed something as trivial as external participation for conversations. “Just wanted to say if I were in your hypothetical bed tonight I'd be a very lucky man.”

“Hypothetically,” Becker replied. Of course the misinterpreted conversation had made it back to the civilians. He glanced around at the rest of the team and wondered just how many of them knew. 

He also wondered if it would be too counter-productive to suggest to Major Ryan that the ARC's military contingent do a group bonding exercise. One that involved twenty mile runs and assault courses, and the participation of every single deviant-minded person who'd been in the break room during Giles' phone call that morning.

It felt like a lifetime ago.

Giles tended to have that effect on people.

Quinn grinned, oblivious to Becker's increasingly violent train of thought. “I mean, _I_ know that stuff's not right, but it's the rest of your lot I'm more worried about.”

“I don't broadcast my personal life among my colleagues,” Becker replied coolly, channelling his inner-Elspeth. Besides, if that nightmare that had been the Lincoln anomaly had been any indication, that was what Quinn's sole existence in life seemed to be centred on.

“True. But today wouldn't have been half as funny otherwise.”

Becker did not sigh. But it was a close thing. “Are you quite done?”

“Yeah, I reckon so. Why?”

Becker ran his hands over his Mossberg. “It's been a very long day. I'm getting this overwhelming urge to shoot someone.”

Unsurprisingly, Quinn didn't have anything to say to that.

Just as well, really.

“So Giles is staying with you, right?” Quinn dared to ask after a few minutes' blessed silence. When Becker nodded, he frowned. “Everything all right with him?”

Becker didn't bother to point out that Quinn had met him for all of two hours at a family function – hardly the most objective of arenas, especially where Beckers were concerned, and not remotely enough time to have any workable understanding of his brother.

So, instead, he told the truth. “I don't know.”

o o o o o

By the time Becker got home – again – it was close to midnight. The anomaly hadn't presented a direct threat, but Connor had been determined to milk the opportunity to run experiments for as long as he could, which meant that while the other civilians got to slope off early, torturing everyone else with odes to hot drinks and late dinners and cosy beds as they went, Becker and his team had to stay put until the big sparkling time portal disappeared.

There was one upside to getting home late, though. Miss Hilary Becker – and every single excruciatingly embarrassing thing that went with her – was nowhere to be seen. Probably tucked up in bed, having ordered replacement knickers for the ones -

And just like that, Becker's ears started to burn again. He really had to find a way to stop them doing that.

Giles was asleep as well, if the jack hammer-like snoring from the living room was any indication. Becker stopped in the doorway for a moment, staring at the back of the sofa. He knew there had to be more to Giles staying with him than just acting out some perverse desire to personally break his brother into a quivering wreck of bumbling, hysterical... hysteria, but that was a problem better left for morning.

Tiredness hit him in a single wave, and he stayed alert long enough to dismantle his weapon and secure it in its case underneath his bed.

That done, he collapsed onto the bed and fell asleep immediately.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

The morning after the lifetime before, Becker woke up to sunlight streaming through his window and a post-it note propped against a brightly coloured mug that was hot to the touch.

The tea was just how he liked it, though it was a couple of minutes before Becker's faculties returned sufficiently for him to be able to read the note.

Giles' handwriting was compacted but still readable. _Demonspawn to be legally known as Penelope Margaret O'Dell. Passed on your congratulations. Taking car for the day. Later, G._

Becker frowned and rubbed a hand over his face a few times. He squinted at his alarm clock until the numbers came into focus. Early enough that he could still get the tube to work without being too late.

He hated the tube. Well, okay, technically that wasn't true. He had nothing against the Underground as a public transport system; it was one of the more remarkable inventions humanity had come up with and even served its purpose – when there weren't any strikes on.

The public part of the equation, though... Becker had a tendency to hate any and all commuters with a fiery vengeance. They tended to be loud, crude, rude and completely lacking in any regard for fellow members of their species.

It was this unassailable truth of the universe that led to Becker arriving at the ARC – late, yes, but acceptably so, given the late hour of the anomaly last night – and mentally raining down curses on every single London Underground passenger even as he calmly and professionally passed through the various security checkpoints and went straight on through to his office. 

He was able to while away the rest of the morning writing up incident reports from last night. It largely consisted of coming up with new and creative ways to write, _Sod all happened_ and have it take up the requisite two pages that some batty bureaucrat had decided was the correct length of write up for any and all anomaly interaction. Tempting as it was to leave the report at those three words (maybe with a postscript: _It made for a highly refreshing change_ ), Becker restrained himself and got on with describing every non-action and inane piece of dialogue in as many words as possible.

It was a bit like being back at school again.

He'd made it though the first draft of the report and was about to go back over it with a bullshit-sensitive eye when his phone rang.

The caller ID said _Elspeth_ and Becker instinctively braced himself.

“Hello?”

_“Hilary! Hello, you!”_

“Elspeth. I... how are you?”

Elspeth laughed. It sounded tinny through the phone and almost alien coming from her. _“Amazing. I'm amazing – this is all...”_

“Amazing?” Becker smiled. “And congratulations – Giles told me you'd picked a name?”

He could actually hear his sister smiling. _“Penelope. After Pat's grandmother. God, Hilary, she's tiny and round and perfect – and she doesn't half belt it out when she's hungry!”_

“Bit like her mum, then,” Becker said before he could help himself.

 _“Yeah!”_ Elspeth didn't seem to care about the vague insult. _“I know it's just the hormones talking, but she really is perfect. And she can't wait to meet her Uncle Hilary.”_

“She's less than a day old – give her a chance!”

 _“Yeah,”_ Elspeth said again. There was a brief silence, then she said: _“What about you, Hilary? How are you?”_

“Me?” Becker honestly couldn't remember having ever been asked that by Elspeth before. “I'm... I'm good.”

_“Work going all right?”_

Becker thought about the dinosaurs, bureaucrats and civilians – and the commanding officer – he'd had to deal with since being assigned to the ARC. “No complaints.”

Elspeth laughed again. _“Never were one for the big soliloquies, were you? Just as long as you're all right – I do worry about you sometimes, you know.”_

“I know,” Becker replied, smiling despite himself. “You don't have to, though. I can take care of myself.”

 _“I know,”_ Elspeth echoed. _“I should get going. Penelope's going to be gearing up for round four any time soon and I ought to be ready.”_ There was a fun mental image if ever there was one. _“I'll get Pat to email you some of the photos when he gets a chance,”_ she added.

“Do.” Becker paused for a moment, wondering how far he could take this new-found camaraderie with his sister. “Let me know when you're discharged, and I'll come up and visit.”

_“I'd like that.”_

“Me too.”

 _“Take care, Sprout.”_ Elspeth hung up before Becker could protest at the nickname he hadn't had since he was tiny. He couldn't find it in him to protest, though. 

He was still smiling when, a few minutes later, Connor stuck his head around the office door.

“Hey, Be... you all right?”

Becker blinked, glanced down at his desk, then back up at Connor. “Yes.”

Connor grinned. “Looked a bit spaced out there.”

“Long couple of days.” Becker shook his head slightly. He wasn't even convinced he'd woken up properly. “And my sister had her baby last night.”

Connor's surprise quickly turned back into a grin. “Cool. She must be thrilled.”

Becker nodded. “Deliriously happy, it would seem.” It made for an unnerving change, but he wasn't going to complain. “Is there something I can do for you?”

“Actually, yes.” Connor waved a set of files around. “Jenny wanted to know if you've finished your report from last night yet.”

“Pretty much.” As close as it was going to get, anyway. Becker hit 'Print' and leaned back into his chair. “So, how are you?”

Connor shrugged. “Same as before, I guess. Lester keeps leaving these sort of post-it notes everywhere, telling me what I can and can't do.”

Not one to comment openly, or at all, on his boss' idiosyncrasies, Becker just blinked and pulled a bland face. Right on cue, though, the printer sputtered and spat out what could feasibly pass for an anomaly contact report. He handed it straight to Connor. “Did you get anything useful from the anomaly?”

“Just some more magnetic readings and some footage from the other side,” Connor said. “Mostly just stuff to compare to other anomalies; we can build better models that way.”

That actually made sense, and Becker nodded. “Will that keep you busy for long?”

“Couple of days, maybe. Depends if we can find any correlation to other eras or geographic locations on this side. Anyway, I should get going, appease the mighty Miss Lewis.” Connor grinned again, and Becker realised belatedly that it was a small joke at his own expense.

Again, though, he found he didn't mind it.

“See you later, Connor.”

o o o o o

Later turned out to be a relative term. Becker had survived an impromptu meeting with Lester and Professor Cutter only to come out of a planned briefing with Major Ryan having realised that his total recollection of said briefing was: “Blah, blah, dinosaurs, blah, blah, Whitehall budgets, blah, blah...”

“A word, Captain?”

Becker froze on the spot, then turned slowly to face the expectant face of Major Ryan. 

He plastered on his blankest, most competent expression. “Sir?”

“You weren't paying attention to a word I said back in there, were you?”

“I...” Shit, shit, shit. Becker hadn't realised he was that transparent. Either that, or Ryan was psychic. He wouldn't put it past him, not working in a place like this.

Ryan sighed. “I heard about what's been going on. Your sister,” he clarified.

“Oh.”

Ryan smiled – and for once it wasn't the least bit menacing. “I told you before, Becker, you learn quickly around here that family's important. Look, go home, get your head together, go visit your sister, whatever it takes – and when you come back here, make sure you're on your fucking game, all right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Ryan smiled again. “Now get out of here before I change my mind!”

“Yes, sir.”

And with that, Ryan disappeared down a side corridor, leaving Becker to stand dumbly in his wake.

Home. He could do that; clock out early, get back to the flat and gather himself. The only question was how – Giles had the car, and God only knew what he was doing with it today – assuming he wasn't at work, which was somewhere on the other side of London, if Becker remembered correctly. There was almost no point in trying to get hold of him, and Becker had about as much affinity for the public transport system right now as the average turkey did for Christmas. 

He was saved from the prospect of a potentially murderous rampage on the Underground by Connor who, as Becker only belatedly realised, was waving a hand around in front of his face.

“Becker?”

“Sorry about that.” Becker gathered himself instantly, relieved beyond measure that it seemed to just be the two of them in the corridor. “Miles away.”

“Everything all right?” Connor asked.

“Yes.” Becker thought about his answer. “I'm not sure. Major Ryan's given me the rest of the day off.”

Connor raised his eyebrows. “Better scarper before he rethinks that,” he joked.

“I know. I'm just trying to work out how to.”

Connor nodded. “D'you need a lift?”

“You'd do that?”

“Sure.” Connor shrugged. “Gets me out of here for a bit.”

“What about the anomaly data?”

“Cutter's all over it.” Becker understood that – the professor could get very territorial when it came to anything to do with the anomaly model in his lab, which Becker assumed was what the data from last night was being contributed to.

He smiled. “A lift home would be great.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Connor made good time through the traffic and it wasn't long before he pulled up outside Becker's flat. It wasn't until they were actually inside the building with Connor carefully closing the door behind him that Becker realised he had no memory of actually agreeing to let Connor come up to the flat.

Major Ryan was right – he really was off his fucking game.

He also needed to stop using the word 'actually' so much.

Moving on autopilot, he checked for post – nothing. Instinctively he glanced at the box above his own; a second typed _H. Becker_ stared so very accusingly back at him. And right on cue, yet again, his ears started to burn.

“Two of you!” Connor commented from somewhere behind Becker's left shoulder. “What's the 'H' stand for?”

Becker sighed mentally. He didn't have the energy to keep deflecting the question, but at the same time a little video player was helpfully whirring into life at the back of his mind, replaying every reaction he'd ever had to revealing that his given name was, in fact, a girl's name, at least in common modern usage. Giles and Elspeth might have had equally old-fashioned names, but at least theirs were still gender-appropriate.

Then again, his dad was called Horatio. The phrase 'doomed from the outset' came to mind.

“Hilary,” he said.

“Cool,” was Connor's only comment.

Becker turned back to give him the best incredulous glare he was capable of. 

“So what's your 'H' stand for, then?”

Becker just stared at Connor, completely and utterly uncomprehending. “Let's go upstairs,” he said, when his brain finally decided to start working again.

Connor's expression was – for once – inscrutable, but he stepped back and motioned for Becker to lead the way.

He took the stairs two at a time, not bothering to check that Connor was keeping up. He paused outside his front door while he fished for the right keys – and froze.

“What is it?” Connor asked, teetering a little two stairs down from the landing.

Becker shushed him and leaned in closer to the door. After a few seconds he was able to make out two distinct voices, both male, but too low and quiet to identify.

Given that there was only one other person to whom Becker had given a spare key, he had a good idea of who one of the voices belonged to. The other...

It was with no small amount of dread that Becker unlocked the door and stepped inside his own home, Connor following closely behind.

The first thing he was greeted with was the stink of coffee, the kind of nasal assault that made him scrunch his face up and want to demand to know who had brought such filth into his home.

The second thing he was greeted with – retaining enough courtesy to move aside enough to let Connor into the flat and the door swing shut behind them – was Giles. He stood in the doorway to the living room, staring quizzically at his brother.

“You're back early.”

“Got the afternoon off,” Becker replied.

Before he could say anything else, Giles frowned. “Who's this?”

“Connor Temple, Giles Becker.” Becker waved a hand between the two of them.

“Hi,” Connor said brightly, clearly oblivious to the tension in the hallway. Giles' only reply was a grunt.

Becker envied him. “What's going on, Giles?” Whatever it was, he was almost certain he didn't want to know.

Giles sighed, though what he had to sound put-on about, Becker had no idea. “I was going to introduce you later when you got back from work, but...”

Becker's eyes narrowed. “But what?”

Giles moved aside to give Becker a clear view of the living room. “This is Theo. Theo, this is Hilary.”

Right on the periphery of his vision Becker saw Connor both frown and tense up, though he stayed quiet. As for Becker himself, once he figured out what his bloody brother was up to, then...

Becker stared. 

There was a gorgeous man sitting on his sofa, drinking coffee and smiling in Becker's direction, all chiselled jawline and shiny white teeth.

Becker actually felt his knees wobble, just a tiny bit.

“Hi,” the male model said. He got off the sofa and came closer to Becker. Fuck, even his voice was attractive. How was that even possible? He offered his hand to Becker, who stared at it dumbly before finally shaking it. “It's nice to meet you.”

“Er... hello.” Becker blinked a couple of times. Nope, the man – Theo, his brain helpfully reminded him – was still standing there. “Hang on a second, would you?”

He turned to Giles. “Explanation, now.”

Giles sighed again. This time it meant he thought Becker was being spectacularly dense and in need of having the painfully obvious explained to him in pointless detail.

“This is Theo. Theo works in publishing. Theo expressed an interest in wanting to meet you. Maybe even having dinner with you.” Giles pulled a face. “Not that you're doing anything to help your cause right now.”

And now it was Becker's turn to sigh. “I thought we'd had this conversation already – no bringing people back to my home!” Something occurred to him. “Why aren't you at work?”

“Look,” Theo interrupted. He looked uncertain. “Maybe I should go.”

“Yeah,” Becker said without thinking. “Look, I'm really sorry about all of this; whatever my brother told you, I -”

“It's all right,” Theo smiled. “Maybe some other time.”

Like never. “Sure,” Becker nodded. He motioned Theo out of the flat.

As soon as the door closed, Giles turned on Becker. “What the hell was that for?”

“This isn't my fault!” Becker shot back.

“And what about him?” Giles continued as if Becker hadn't spoken. He was pointing at Connor, who by now was doing a remarkable impression of a wallflower. 

“I can just -” Connor meekly pointed at the closed door.

“No.” Becker shook his head. “You can stay.”

“Why does he get to and The-”

“Because Connor's my friend and I invited him up here,” Becker replied, forcing his voice to remain calm and even. “I'll ask again, Giles – what the hell?”

Instead of shouting back, which was what Becker had been convinced would happen next, Giles sagged where he stood. “I can't do anything right,” he mumbled.

Becker stepped closer to him. “Giles, what are you talking about?”

Giles just stared at him. Far from being self-confident, almost brazen man Becker was used to seeing, he just looked miserable.

“Connor,” Becker directed without turning around. “Go into the living room and find something to read for a bit.”

Connor nodded and darted past the both of them. His relief was palpable.

Becker waited for the door to close before reaching out to touch Giles' arm. “What's going on?” 

“Ilostm'job.”

“What?”

Giles closed his eyes and swallowed loudly. “I lost my job, okay? That's why I – that's why.”

“When?”

“About six months ago. Party cost-cutting measures and I was caught in the line of fire.” Giles huffed. “Thought I'd be all right, didn't think it would be this tough to get another fucking job. I'm good at what I do!”

The tone of his voice – almost keening, like he was trying not to cry – tugged at Becker. “I know,” he said. And he did know. He really did.

“Tried everything, even the private sector. There's nothing,” Giles continued. “And I – I can't afford to keep the flat any more.”

“Which is why you came here,” Becker realised. Then he realised something else. “Mum said you were in line for a promotion.”

This time Giles didn't meet his eyes. “Mum doesn't know. No one does. 'Cept you.”

“You could have told Mum and Dad – they'd have understood.”

“Understood what?” Giles demanded. “That I'm reduced to living out of a suitcase on my baby brother's sofa because I'm not fucking important enough to have kept my job? That I'm a complete...”

“Shit happens. Mum and Dad will understand.”

Giles just kept going, like he hadn't heard Becker speak. “And I can't even find someone my brother likes enough to consider a relationship with. One thing – one thing I thought I could do right.”

Things started to click. “That's why you were trying to... to match-make?”

“And what a fucking disaster that turned out to be.”

“Oh, Giles.” Becker pulled his brother close and hugged him. “You're not a fuck-up, okay? You're not.”

“Compared to you and El, I am.” But Giles didn't pull back, which was something. “You're not in the Middle East any more and you have no idea how much better everyone feels about that, me included. You're here and you're settled and you... you're content. And now that El's popped her kid out, she's actually nice and happy and...”

“...and it's like the whole world's turning upside down and there's nothing you can do to stop it,” Becker finished.

A ghost of a smile appeared on Giles' face. “Yeah. Seriously, though, no interest in dinner with Theo?”

“Only if you want me to kill someone with an appetiser,” Becker said. He could easily envision the kind of restaurant Giles would send them to, and even wondered briefly if death by mid-to-high end entrée was even possible, then stopped himself. Really not the time.

“Always with the violence.” Giles sighed, almost theatrically. “You really are okay, though, like this, aren't you?”

Becker nodded, and decided to shift the conversation ever so slightly. “I can't help you on the job front.” He pulled away slightly so that he could look Giles in the eye. “But talk to Mum and Dad, tell them what's going on. They. Will. Understand. And they'll help you, you know that – it's not about pity,” he added, catching Giles' changing expression. “They'd do the same for any of us.”

“Yeah... I should, um, I should probably get going, then. If I get a train soon I could be in Nottingham before it starts to get dark.”

Becker interrupted before the babbling could turn into something worse. “Take the car.”

“What? No!” Giles stared at him. “You hate commuters.”

He did. He really, really, did, but... “This is more important. Are you going to be okay to drive?”

“I'll have to be.” Giles stood a little straighter. “Nothing to force your focus like the M1.”

“Indeed.”

“Right, then.” And just like that – almost – it was back to business. It didn't take long for Giles to retrieve his suitcase from the living room and start filling it. Watching him, Becker could almost see the final pieces of the puzzle falling into place. Giles was a task-oriented person, always had been. He just couldn't cope without anything to do, and if he wanted to go see Mum and Dad straight away, then there was nothing Becker could do but try to help him.

Behind Giles, Becker could see Connor very determinedly reading a paperback, clearly trying to be as unobtrusive as possible. Becker was grateful; he didn't think Giles would want anyone else paying attention to him like this.

After a few minutes, Giles was standing by the front door, suitcase beside him – a much more sombre version of the scene from just a few days ago when he'd first shown up.

“I'll call you when I get there,” Giles said.

“Do. Do you want me to call ahead for you?”

“I... yeah. Just let them know I'm coming.”

“Okay.”

Giles looked like he was about to do or say something, but caught himself. “See you around, Hilary.”

He left the flat before Becker could reply. He stared at the door, his mind already starting to try and make sense of what had just happened, and what Giles had spent the last _six months_ doing – or not doing.

“So.” Connor's voice interrupted his thoughts. “That was Giles.”

“That was Giles,” Becker agreed, not moving from the hallway.

“And you're Hilary.” 

“Don't bother, okay?” Becker went into the living room and stared at Connor's head poking over the back of the sofa. “Just don't.”

“Hey, I wasn't going to say anything!” Connor protested. “It's a cool name.”

“Yeah, for a medieval knight.”

Connor laughed. “So I'm guessing calling you that at work is out.”

Becker raised an eyebrow. “Very.”

“Cool,” Connor said again. He picked up the book again.

“What are you reading?” Becker asked.

“I dunno. I think someone's just died in it, though. I did, however, find this.”

Connor sounded far too innocent, even as he reached down beside him and then held up a small brown notebook with several pieces of paper poking out of it.

Oh. Oh, no...

“I had no idea you kept a diary, Becker.” 

Well, crap. Becker could have waited for a hole in the ground to open and swallow him whole. He could have retrieved the Mossberg from under his bed and pointed it at Connor until he handed the book over. He could even have screamed loud enough for Miss Becker upstairs to hear, and wonder just what her knicker-stealing neighbour was up to now.

As it was, he did none of these things. Because he was a Becker, and Beckers did not do those sorts of things (at least not while sober).

What he did do was climb over the sofa – and Connor – snatching the diary back as he did so.

Potential disaster – averted.

Story of his life, really.

**the end**


End file.
